


Jesse McCree X Reader – The Gunslinger

by writeyouin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Rescue, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 01:36:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14153841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeyouin/pseuds/writeyouin
Summary: Jesse McCree often visits the Reader's bar as his favourite hangout. What will happen when that bar is threatened?





	Jesse McCree X Reader – The Gunslinger

McCree sighed tiredly, relieved to finally be back in Santa Fe after a long week chasing the criminals Junkrat and Roadhog halfway across America, to no avail; once again, he hadn’t been able to catch them which meant no pay from the stuffed shirt who wanted them behind bars. He trudged on, heading straight to The Gunslinger, a creaky dive bar which was more like a home than wherever he was living at any given time.

In the bar, you stacked shot glasses in a small pyramid, bored with the lack of customers; as the bar’s owner, you often wondered if it would be better had you not won the place in that poker match. At the time, it felt like you’d won a goldmine, now it was more of a money pit that you wanted to leave but found that you couldn’t whenever you tried because there was just something special about the ramshackle cabin. The door burst open and you grinned upon seeing your number one customer walk in, Jesse McCree.

“Hey Jesse,” You poured out a shot of whiskey, placing it at his stool at the end of the bar. “Good trip?”

He downed the shot, then grumbled, “Leave the bottle.”

“That bad huh,” You put the bottle down. “Alright, just don’t overdo it tonight.”

McCree scoffed, “Why’s it matter?”

You remembered the lonely image of him passed out on the bar at Christmas, which was when you really started talking to him whenever he came in, “Just does, besides I need you in good condition to fix the roof; it leaks when it rains.”

“It never rains.”

“Fine, be that way sourpuss.”

McCree griped further but you left him to it, seeing that he was in no mood to talk today. It saddened you to see him in such a state, but you understood it at least. Once, on one of his bad days, he got himself into a drunken stupor and told you all about his time in the Deadlock Gang and how it led him to the Blackwatch division of Overwatch; he didn’t remember telling you about it and you were happy to leave it that way until he was ready to talk properly, if that day ever came. You longed to comfort your friend on the destruction of Overwatch and his past, but you knew that doing so would only drive McCree further away, which you couldn’t afford to do; he needed someone, and if that was you in your crappy dive bar then so be it.

“Excuse me,” a tinny voice commanded your attention.

You looked up to see an omnic, dressed in a t-shirt and skinny jeans.

“Are omnics welcome here? I cannot order anything, but I would pay for the privilege of staying to read my book.”

His request told you everything you needed to know; he’d clearly been denied access to anywhere nicer than The Gunslinger. You gestured around to the many empty seats in the bar, “No need to pay sweetheart, take any seat you want.”

The omnic bowed humbly, settling into a stool at the centre of the bar. From previous experience, you knew that meant he would probably want to talk later.

“Hey,” A guy who’d been in the back booth, nursing a beer for over fifteen minutes clicked his fingers at you. “Can I get some God-damn service in this piss hole.”

McCree eyed-up the man, examining him contemptuously for his obnoxious demeanour. He was a bulky man, weighing in at around three hundred pounds, though most of it was muscle, if McCree had to guess he’d say that stood up, the man was probably somewhere around six foot, four. Other than that, there was nothing obviously striking about him; he was forgettable at best.

You approached the stranger, ignoring his rudeness; if you reacted to every snide comment, you’d never make any money. “Hello Sir, what can I help you with? Another beer perhaps?”

“Actually, I was thinking that your stupid ass is gonna kick out the scrap metal. Take out the fucking trash bitch, or I ain’t paying.”

You glanced at the omnic who looked rather down-trodden but was already preparing to leave, then you smiled sweetly at the man, “Take out the trash? Okay, get out pig, I don’t want your money anyway. God knows where it’s been.”

“What?!”

“I’m sorry, you deaf as well as stupid? Get the hell out of my bar, you filthy animal,” You enunciated each word, pointing to the door as if shooing a stray dog out.

The man shuffled out the booth, glaring at you the entire time. You turned your back on him to get back behind the bar; that was a mistake. The second you turned, the man grabbed you, holding a knife to your throat. McCree hopped to his feet, freeing his Peacemaker from its holster and holding it high.

“Drop the gun, or I’ll slit this un’s throat,” the man warned.

“What’s your name?” McCree asked, calmly as ever.

The man’s eyebrows furrowed confusedly, “What?”

“What. Is. Your. Name.”

“Ulrick. What the fuck does it matter?! Holster your gun asshole.”

“Well Ulrick, you should know a few things. Nobody threatens my bar, nobody disrespects the rules here, but most of all nobody threatens my (Y/N).”

“W-”

McCree fired a single shot straight into the man’s kneecap, bringing him down in one fell swoop. You gasped as the knife dragged weakly down your shoulder, cutting the skin. McCree rolled in, landing on top of Ulrick who was screaming in agony, and restraining him. You stumbled to the back of the bar, calling the police of the tiny town and reporting the incident.

As soon as the call was made, you turned your attention to McCree, “Get out of here Jesse. The police are on their way.”

McCree frowned at you, “But-”

“No buts, I can handle him from here. Go.”

McCree jabbed Ulrick one more time in the stomach, winding him to make sure he stayed down, then fled the scene, promising himself he’d drop by later. You grabbed Ulrick’s knife, holding it to the man’s throat as a warning.

“How’s it feel, hmm?” You spat.  "Not good is it. Maybe you’ll think of that next time, racist fuck.“

* * *

You sat in the bar’s storeroom, cleaning fresh blood from your arm, and applying pressure to the cut which ran all the way from your shoulder to your elbow. The police had come and gone, arresting Ulrick and asking little of the fight since such altercations were common in bars such as yours. After that, you’d apologised to the omnic who seemed more upset for you than himself; you’d quickly assured him that he wasn’t to blame and that he was always welcome at the Gunslinger. All that was left to do now was to tend to your wound and clean up the bar.

"That looks bad,” McCree murmured from the doorway.

You grinned cheekily, “Only if you hate red.”

He approached you, gesturing for you to sit down on the table top while he cleaned the injury properly, “You shouldn’t have got hurt; I’m sorry.”

You winced as he applied antiseptic spray, attempting to keep a calm tone, “You saved my life, I should be thanking you.”

“Did you tell the police anything…” his implication hung uncomfortably in the air.

“About you? No. I only said there was a brawl and the other guy bolted. Then they asked me who the other guy was, and I played the idiot. You’re welcome by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem, I can’t go losing my number one patron now; you basically pay my rent.”

McCree sighed, tying a bandage neatly over the wound, “I should go.”

You hopped off the table, grabbing his shoulder, “Jesse…”

He barely moved, inclining his head slightly to hear you.

“What did you mean when you said that I was  _your_  (Y/N).”

“Forget it, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You watched as he left the Gunslinger without another word, hoping that you hadn’t driven him away for good, and that he’d one day tell you what he meant. You weren’t sure what you felt towards the statement, though you were sure it wasn’t a bad feeling growing in the pit of your stomach.


End file.
